


Victory is His Middle Name

by Maeve_of_Winter



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic), Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Families of Choice, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hockey Husbands, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Homophobia AU, Protectiveness, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-03 15:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19467139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeve_of_Winter/pseuds/Maeve_of_Winter
Summary: The Aces win the Stanley Cup, but Jeff gets a worrying reminder of just how much Kent will sacrifice in order to secure a victory.





	Victory is His Middle Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sophiegaladheon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiegaladheon/gifts).



There was no feeling in the world, Jeff was pretty sure, that adequately summed up the sheer _euphoria_ of winning the Stanley Cup. Oh, yeah, there was happiness—but it was about more than just being run-of-the-mill happy. It was about feeling goddamn _elated,_ overjoyed, high on life and adrenaline, and most of all, really fucking _proud._

But what really made Jeff jump up and pump his fist in the air and grab his teammates and hug them for all they were worth was the sheer _vindication_. The knowledge and confirmation that all of their hard work had paid off in the end, that they’d achieved their ultimate goal.

_They won the Cup._

Adrenaline was still rushing through him, but the uncontrolled ecstasy faded slightly as Jeff realized in all the bodies crushing around him, he couldn’t spot Kent. Determined to celebrate their third Cup together with his husband, Jeff took several moments to untangle himself from the crowd of his teammates, grinning but yanking away whenever someone tried to pull him back in. 

Standing back, he scanned the mass of fellow Aces and tried to catch a glimpse of Kent, but his search proved fruitless. Frowning, Jeff reflexively glanced down at the other end of the rink, wondering if Kent had gone to shake hands—but then his stomach dropped as he noticed a cluster of white and gold Bruins jerseys surrounding something just in front of their goal. 

Fear and dread suddenly coiling within him, Jeff sprinted down the ice, his blades barely touching the surface as his adrenaline surged even higher. When he reached the other end, he slowed down only so he didn’t bowl any of the Bruins over but wasted no time in shoving between them to see what they were looking at. 

He found Kent there, lying there on his back, utterly motionless. Chara, the Bruins’ captain, and Rask, their goaltender, were already beside him, checking to see if he was responsive. Frozen in horror with his heart in his throat, Jeff could only watch as the scene unfolded before him.

“Parson?” Chara tapped Kent firmly on the neck with one giant hand, already having removed his gloves. “Parson, can you hear me?”

There was no reaction of any kind from Kent. 

Shaking, Jeff managed to lower himself to kneel down at his side, next to Rask and across from Chara. It didn’t seem real. How could it be? How could they have won the Cup and yet Kent just be lying here, still and unmoving like he was already dead?

Beneath his helmet, Kent’s face was gray, and the only sound from him was ragged, labored breathing. It seemed abnormally loud, amplifying and echoing in Jeff’s ears as the sounds of the celebration of the Aces and their fans faded to a dim buzz in the background.

His mouth set in a grim line, Chara pointed to two of his teammates. “Bring the doctors over here. Now. Tell them they’re going to need a stretcher,” he ordered.

Marchand and Bergeron raced off, but Jeff didn’t waste time in watching them go, instead directing his attention to Chara.

“What happened?” he demanded. “Who did this?”

Brows knitted together in clear concern, Chara just shook his head, only glancing up from Kent to check to see if the doctors were on their way. 

Rask was the one who answered. “I didn’t see anyone so much as touch him. He just stayed back here when the rest of your team started their celly up at your goal. I thought it was weird, but before I could say anything, he just went down and hasn’t moved since.”

Jeff’s stomach lurched at the news of Kent’s collapse, his eyes falling back to Kent as he seemed to struggle to breath. Leaning forward, he tried cup the side of Kent’s cheek as best he could with his helmet in the way. His face was hot to the touch but didn’t seem to have so much as a trace of sweat.

“Kent?” Jeff asked, trying to keep his voice from cracking. “Kent? It’s me, Jeff.”

Holding his breath, he inwardly begged for some kind of response: a twitch of Kent’s arm, a flutter of his eyelids. But there was nothing, and before he could try again, the doctors arrived and began to surround Kent. The refs began directing all of the players to give them room and signalled for Chara, Rask, and himself to back away.

A sudden resistance overcame Jeff, and even though he was well aware it was irrational, he wanted to remain where he was beside Kent, his heart twisting at the idea of being separated from him.

But with unexpected swiftness, Chara surged over to his side and gently ushered him away. 

“Come on, Troy,” he said, drawing Jeff out of the crowd of players. “You need to talk with your coaches and then go back to your locker room. Get ready to see Parson.” He gave Jeff a conciliatory clap on the shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll be fine in no time. And when he is, tell him I’ll stop by to get my handshake, yeah?”

Jeff managed to give Chara small smile. Even in spite of his worry for Kent, he was impressed that the opposing captain had just lost the Cup and yet was more concerned for his rivals than his own defeat.

“Thanks, man,” he said, but before he could skate off, a wave of black jerseys were swarming toward him. The Aces had finally noticed their captain’s absence.

Scrappy was the first to reach him. “Swoops, what the hell?” He caught a glimpse of the figure being loaded onto the stretcher. “Fuck, is that Parser?” 

Jeff hesitated, torn between wanting to explain to his teammates and his instincts urging him to get to Kent’s side as soon as possible.

Chara saw his dilemma and quickly gave him a solution. “Go on, Troy. I’ll explain.”

“Thanks,” Jeff said gratefully, not even caring that his obvious relief was plain for anyone to see. He turned to his teammates. “He and Rask saw what happened. He’ll tell you. I gotta go be with Kent.”

Still watching the doctors’ progress, his expression distressed, Scrappy agreed. “For sure. Keep us updated.”

Jeff promised he would and then whipped over to the bench. He stopped only to exchange a few quick words with the coaches about what he knew and then get permission to skip the press and go straight to the hospital to be with Kent. Then, with speed he hadn’t known he possessed, Jeff hurtled into the locker room, whipped off his gear, showered, and yanked on fresh clothes. None of the rest of the team had even showed up by the time he left, and he was already in the tunnel that led to the parking garage by the time one of the trainers, Cassidy, managed to chase him down.

“No way should you be driving with your spouse just being rushed off to the hospital,” she told him firmly when she caught up with him. “I’ll take you there in your car, and then I’ll get a cab back.”

Arguing would have only wasted time, so Jeff didn’t hesitate before handing over his keys. Besides, with someone else driving, he could update Bob and Alicia on the way.

He was able to reach them fairly easily, rapidly firing off texts with shaking hands to Alicia, letting her and Bob know what happened. She replied almost instantly; as Kent’s family, they’d already been informed of Kent’s injury and had been provided with a car and driver as well. They’d meet him at the hospital. 

Jeff couldn’t help but notice the brusqueness of the reply, even though Alicia was usually talkative, even in text form. She was obviously just as worried as he was.

Desperately searching for some kind of reassurance, Jeff reminded himself of what Rask said about Kent collapsing out of nowhere. If that was true, then Kent’s injury probably wasn’t that bad, he tried to comfort himself. If it didn’t happen during a hit or a scrum, it wasn’t very likely to be a spinal. And since this game was the last of the playoffs, there was less physical contact than usual—with the Cup at stake, players couldn’t afford to be squandering ice time for minutes in the penalty box. It wasn’t likely he’d taken a bad hit. Hell, Jeff wasn’t sure he could recall any hit dealt to Kent even halfway bad enough to result in a collapse. 

So, by all accounts, Kent should be okay. Right? _Right?_

As much as he was trying not to panic, Jeff could feel his breathing picking up and getting more ragged. His fingers coiled into fists, and he made a conscious effort to relax them, to force himself to stay calm. 

His determination lasted until his SUV rolled to a halt on the freeway, stuck in a snaking trail of cars that covered the road ahead for as far as he could see. At the sight, he couldn’t quite bite back a curse, and he slumped back in his seat, tossing his hands up in the air in frustration.

Cassidy glanced at him apologetically. “Sorry about this. We might be here for a while.”

“Not your fault,” Jeff managed to grit out in a fairly neutral tone, attempting to quell his rising panic.

It only increased, though, when a warning flashed across his phone’s screen, letting him know he had less than five percent of his battery left. And fuck, his car’s charger had gone bad less than a week ago. He’d meant to buy a new one but had been too swept up in playoffs hype to remember.

With trepidation churning in his stomach, Jeff watched helplessly as the battery percentage ebbed from four to three, knowing he was just minutes away from being cut off from any news about Kent entirely. 

So much for staying calm.

* * *

By the time Cassidy dropped him off in front of the hospital and went to park his car, promising him she would text him the lot number, Jeff could only manage a curt nod. The anxiety and dread brewing in his chest were so powerful he could barely speak, and his thoughts were just a jumble of worst case scenarios and flashbacks to Kent lying still on the ice.

The one bit of luck he had was that he didn’t have to wait for very long at the reception desk and was able to show his ID and find out that Kent was on the third floor. The moment the nurse gave him the room number, he all but sprinted to the stairs, far too impatient and worried to tolerate the elevator. He barely remembered to thank her. Any exhaustion from the game was quickly forgotten as he flung himself up flight after flight of steps.

Bursting through the doors to the third floor, Jeff barely remembered to take a second to reorient himself before charging down the hall. Every extra second he spent slowing down to check the hallway signs he was following seem to drag on too long.

Finally, his gaze zeroed on Kent’s room number, and he strode inside, bracing himself for the worst.

All that he found was Kent, looking tired but otherwise fine, propped up on an upright hospital bed, Alicia sitting beside him and fussing with his unruly hair, while Bob tried to offer him a cup of water. There was an IV hooked into Kent’s arm, a heart monitor taped to his chest, and a blood pressure cuff on his bicep, but even with all the tubes and wires, he looked like he was in high spirits.

Almost dizzy with relief, Jeff rushed over to the bed.

“You’re okay,” he breathed, Bob and Alicia moving away so that he had the room to wrap Kent in a tight hug. He buried his face into Kent’s hair, inhaling deeply and letting the familiar scent of Kent’s woodsy shampoo wash over him. “Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Kent chuckled, sounding only a little bit hoarse. “More than okay. I’m fucking phenomenal.” 

Jeff wasn’t so relieved that he suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Yeah, tell that to the dozens of players and hundreds of fans who saw you collapse on the ice.” His heart began pounding again as he leaned back to look at Kent directly, casting a tense glance at Bob and Alicia as well. “What’s the diagnosis, anyway? What happened out there?”

“Yes, Kent, why don’t you tell him?” Bob asked with a meaningful look at Kent as he sat down in one of the bedside chairs. His voice was too fond to be truly hard, but it definitely had an edge of worry.

“Eh.” Kent shrugged at Jeff, his tone nonchalant. “It’s just a fever. Since I could walk and talk through it, I thought I could play through it, too. And I did, for the most part.”

“Until you fell unconscious and needed to be rushed to the hospital for emergency rehydration,” Alicia pointed out, her tone half-exasperated and half-concerned. 

Jeff understood the feeling. “You never even told me you were sick!” he said, fixing an accusing gaze on Kent. “Here I was, wondering if you’d had a seizure on the ice or something, and, no, it turns out you’re just too damn boneheaded to sit out a game.”

“It wasn’t just a game,” Kent pointed out, flinty determination surfacing in his gold-green eyes. “It was the Cup Finals. Like hell was I going to take a scratch and risk our chances.”

“You should have told me,” Jeff insisted, pulling Kent close, almost into his lap, and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. His rising temper was soothed somewhat at just being able to touch Kent, at the feeling of his warm, solid presence, the reminder that he was all right.

“You would have just worried,” Kent murmured into his ear, nuzzling against him, his hair tickling along Jeff’s jaw. 

“With good reason,” Jeff huffed. He wasn’t sure if he should be proud of Kent’s devotion to the team or infuriated by it. He compromised by pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, frowning at the dry heat still noticeable on Kent’s skin. 

But he was unable to stifle a small smile when he pulled away slightly but realized he was still close enough to count every freckle on Kent’s face.

The smile didn’t escape Kent’s notice. “You’re not really mad at me,” he challenged him softly, a slight smirk on his face.

“I am so,” Jeff retorted. “Don’t think you can get away with being dumb just because you’re cute.”

Kent just chuckled and nuzzled further against him.

Smiling at their antics, Alicia gave a gentle tap to Bob’s shoulder. “C’mon, Bobby, let’s give the happy couple a little bit of time to themselves.” She looked at them, trying to gaze sternly at Kent but her expression going soft much too quickly. “Is there anything you need from the cafeteria?” 

“Thanks. A coffee would be great,” Kent replied. 

Bob snorted at that. “If anything, you’ll be getting a strong cup of tea,” he informed Kent, reaching out to give an affectionate ruffle to his hair. “But we’ll get you both a couple of sandwiches,” he said to Jeff, patting him on the shoulder before departing arm-in-arm with Alicia.

Kent watched them go. “I feel bad about worrying them,” he commented to Jeff.

Jeff scoffed. “Them? What about me?” He gave Kent a nudge with his elbow, though he was careful because of all the hospital equipment. “I’m the one who got to be right there with you when you were conked out on the ice.”

Kent had the grace to look sheepish. “Were you the one who found me?”

“It was Rask and Chara,” Jeff told him, starting to gently rub a hand up and down Kent’s free arm. “They took care of you until the doctors could take over, all while I stood on the sidelines hyperventilating.” 

Kent grinned a little bit at that. “Good ol’ Grinchy, huh? Guess his heart must have grown three sizes for him to help the guy who just got a hat trick against him, but maybe Zesus Char-ist helped with that. I should send flowers.”

“Chara said he’s going to try to drop by and see you, so maybe you can hand-deliver them,” Jeff said dryly. “You can tell him your story. If there’s anyone who’s going to appreciate you martyring yourself to win the Cup, it’s Big Zee.”

Kent gave a slight laugh, but when his eyes sought out Jeff’s, there was a hint of anxiety within them. “Do _you_ appreciate it? I mean, you understand why I did it, right?”

In all honesty, Jeff understood, but he wasn’t exactly happy with it. Sometimes he hated seeing the limits Kent pushed himself to, hated seeing Kent becoming injured or exhausted all for the sake of his team, and Jeff hated worrying about if it was going to happen this time and then worrying some more when it actually did. 

He fucking treasured Kent, okay? He got that Kent was the captain, he got that he was gonna do everything it took to win, but even if Jeff was his A, it didn’t mean Kent’s methods earned his approval. He loved his husband and wanted to see him safe.

“I know how it’s gotta be out on the ice,” Jeff told Kent softly. “You gotta be the captain. You gotta give it your all to win. You gotta carry the team on your back if that what it takes to get the Cup. Out there, you can’t be my husband. You’re the Aces’ captain. So I don’t hold it against you that you’d put yourself at risk to win. You’re not saying you love me less, you’re just showing the team that you love them, too.

“But I fucking love you,” Jeff said roughly, unable to stop his grip around Kent’s shoulders from tightening. “I love you so fucking much, and I always worry. I don’t want to see you hurt, Kent.”

“And I didn’t want to go away without the Cup,” Kent said, watching him with his eyes half-lidded, not unlike a cat.

“Oh, tell me something I don’t know,” Jeff returned, rolling his eyes. 

Still, he slid one hand over to grasp Kent’s own, interweaving their fingers and watching the metal on their hands glint in the light.

His own wedding ring was a plain platinum band, sleek and stylish but simple. In contrast, Kent’s ring was two-toned, gold on both outer edges and a center line of silver in between, with a gem, and an aquamarine inlay (Jeff’s birthstone) set at the top center. Very modern and trendy but also flashy, it served to encapsulate the very essence of Kent, the core personality that Jeff couldn’t help but love, in just a single piece of jewelry. 

“You’re my world, Kent. The very center of my universe,” Jeff told him almost hoarsely, blinking at the absolute truth, the almost painfully intense certainty of the words washed over him. “Yeah, you’re an obsessive lunatic when it comes to hockey, and I would be mad at you, but you’re _my_ obsessive lunatic. And I knew that when I married you. I just worry about you. Maybe I’m old-fashioned or something, but I just want to take care of you.”

Kent laughed softly. “So chivalrous.” Untangling his hand from Jeff’s, he reached up to gently run a hand across Jeff’s jaw. “You know, we do have ten weeks of time to ourselves now. You can take care of me all you want.” He gave Jeff a lazy grin as he closed his eyes, curling up in Jeff’s lap and tucking his head beneath Jeff’s chin. “If that’s what you want.”

Jeff momentarily rearranged himself just long enough to give Kent a gentle kiss on the cheek. “It _is_ want I want. So why don’t you go ahead and get some rest and get better so we can get started?”

“Bossy,” Kent muttered, but there was no heat to it, and his breathing was evening out as sleep overcame him.

“Yeah, well.” Jeff dragged his fingers through Kent’s hair, knowing how the sensation helped soothe him. “Someone needs to be where you’re concerned.”

There was no response from Kent; he was already asleep. And with Kent safe in his arms and the Stanley Cup back in their barn, Jeff allowed himself to lean back against the bed and close his eyes as well, smiling as he thought of what the next few months held for them.


End file.
